Room Read Free

Patrick the starfish, but not Squidward, he’s creepy. It’s a spooky story about a giant
pencil, I watch through Ma’s fingers that are all twice longer than mine.
    Nothing makes Ma scared. Except Old Nick maybe. Mostly she calls him just him, I didn’t even know the name for him till I saw a cartoon about a guy that comes in the night called
Old Nick. I call the real one that because he comes in the night, but he doesn’t look like the TV guy with a beard and horns and stuff. I asked Ma once is he old, and she said he’s
nearly double her which is pretty old.
    She gets up to switch TV off as soon as it’s the credits.
    My pee’s yellow from the vitamins. I sit to poo, I tell it, “Bye-bye, off to the sea.” After I flush I watch the tank filling up going bubble gurgle wurble. Then I scrub
my hands till it feels like my skin’s going to come off, that’s how to know I’ve washed enough.
    “There’s a web under Table,” I say, I didn’t know I was going to. “It’s of Spider, she’s real. I’ve seen her two times.”
    Ma smiles but not really.
    “Will you not brush it away, please? Because she isn’t even there even, but she might come back.”
    Ma’s down on her knees looking under Table. I can’t see her face till she pushes her hair behind her ear. “Tell you what, I’ll leave it till we clean, OK?”
    That’s Tuesday, that’s three days. “OK.”
    “You know what?” She stands up. “We’ve got to mark how tall you are, now you’re five.”
    I jump way in the air.
    Usually I’m not allowed draw on any bits of Room or furnitures. When I was two I scribbled on the leg of Bed, her one near Wardrobe, so whenever we’re cleaning Ma taps the scribble
and says, “Look, we have to live with that forever.” But my birthday tall is different, it’s tiny numbers beside Door, a black 4, and a black 3 underneath, and a red 2 that was
the color our old Pen was till he ran out, and at the bottom a red 1.
    “Stand up straight,” says Ma. Pen tickles the top of my head.
    When I step away there’s a black 5 a little bit over the 4. I love five the best of every number, I have five fingers each hand and the same of toes and so does Ma, we’re our dead
spits. Nine is my worst favorite number. “What’s my tall?”
    “Your height. Well, I don’t know exactly,” she says. “Maybe we could ask for a measuring tape sometime, for Sunday treat.”
    I thought measuring tapes were just TV. “Nah, let’s ask for chocolates.” I put my finger on the 4 and stand with my face against it, my finger’s on my hair. “I
didn’t get taller much this time.”
    “That’s normal.”
    “What’s normal?”
    “It’s—” Ma chews her mouth. “It means it’s OK. No hay problema.”
    “Look how big my muscles, though.” I bounce on Bed, I’m Jack the Giant Killer in his seven-league boots.
    “Vast,” says Ma.
    “Gigantic.”
    “Massive.”
    “Huge.”
    “Enormous,” says Ma.
    “Hugeormous.” That’s word sandwich when we squish two together.
    “Good one.”
    “You know what?” I tell her. “When I’m ten I’ll be growed up.”
    “Oh yeah?”
    “I’ll get bigger and bigger and bigger till I turn into a human.”
    “Actually, you’re human already,” says Ma. “Human’s what we both are.”
    I thought the word for us was real. The persons in TV are made just of colors.
    “Did you mean a woman, with a w ?”
    “Yeah,” I say, “a woman with a boy in an egg in my tummy and he’ll be a real one too. Or I’m going to grow to a giant, but a nice one, up to here.” I jump to
touch Bed Wall way high, nearly where Roof starts slanting up.
    “Sounds great,” says Ma.
    Her face is gone flat, that means I said a wrong thing but I don’t know which.
    “I’ll burst through Skylight into Outer Space and go boing boing between each the planets,” I tell her. “I’ll visit Dora and SpongeBob and all my friends,
I’ll have a dog called Lucky.”
    Ma’s put a smile on.